


Response

by standbygo



Series: Deep [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:19:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1742882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/standbygo/pseuds/standbygo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Sherlock finally says it, he can't stop saying it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Response

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not redistribute my fanfiction on other archives or sites without my express permission. Thank you.
> 
> I thought I was done with the world of "Deep", but lo and behold, this arrived in my brain. An epilogue?
> 
> Can be read as a standalone; the context is that John has returned after a long absence, and Sherlock finally says those three little words.

John smiles, his eyes bright and a little wet, and kisses deeply and then deeper still. Sherlock tries to map the sensations, the way this kiss feels different from any other they have shared, but then drowns and aches with the joy of drowning. John pulls back and strokes Sherlock’s hair, and cheek, and neck, and chest, and back to his hair.

“I love you,” Sherlock says.

They move together until the sweat pours freely from their skin. Though sex in the past has sometimes been about teasing, sometimes about desperation, this time it is different and indefinable to Sherlock. It is the first time for him that the orgasm is beside the point; the motivation here is to translate everything he has been feeling into his muscles and skin and communicate it through osmosis of touch.

“I love you,” Sherlock says.

Afterwards, Sherlock tries to resist falling asleep, tries to force his eyelids to stay open, to stay focused on John’s face, but John’s even, deep breaths and the rise and fall of his ribcage hypnotizes him and the world fades away. When he wakes, the bed is empty but warm, and Sherlock hears the shower starting. From the temperature of John’s side of the bed and the lack of humidity in the air, and with the knowledge of how long John’s showers last, Sherlock calculates how long he has and smiles. When John does emerge from the shower six minutes and forty five seconds later, Sherlock is standing in the doorway, wearing the blue dressing gown with the bullet hole in the sleeve. He smiles at John, who is dripping wet and slightly surprised but not displeased to see Sherlock there.

“I love you,” Sherlock says.

He waits patiently while John towels off, then hands him his warm, worn, green terrycloth robe. Then he takes John by the hand and leads him to the sitting room. The room is still an unholy mess, but Sherlock has simply pushed paper and books out of the way to create a small clear space near the hearth. There is a fire in the fireplace, only just started but starting to burn warmly. One of the kitchen chairs is placed by the fire, and Sherlock guides John to sit and to lean back. He places a hot, damp towel over John’s beard and kisses and nuzzles his forehead and hair while the warmth soaks into John's skin.

“I love you,” Sherlock says.

Sherlock removes the towel and covers John’s beard with an expensive smelling soap, rubbing it gently into the bristly, coarse hair. Then, using a sharp and shiny razor, he carefully scrapes the beard away, wiping the foam and hair onto an old towel. He repeats the use of the warm towel and application of foam until John’s face is revealed again. John feels no trepidation or pain during the shave, just the relief of itchiness and weight that he had become accustomed to over the past two months. Sherlock gently runs his fingers over John’s cheeks and chin and neck, checking his work, then rubs lotion deeply into the skin. Only then does Sherlock brush his lips against the smooth surface of John’s face.

“I love you,” Sherlock says.

He pulls John’s housecoat open and inventories John’s body, checking against his map of the same territory he kept in his mind while John was away. He checks for any new scars, or freckles, or moles, or any that he had forgotten (as heretical a concept as that is), but is satisfied with the quality of his memories in the end. He kneels between John’s legs and sees that John is erect, and has been fighting to keep his hands and hips still. Sherlock smiles, and kisses John on his right hip, on the inside of his left thigh, and slides his hands along John’s haunches and up, underneath the robe, to the small of John’s back. He looks up at John through his eyelashes.

“I love you,” Sherlock says.

Afterwards he wraps John up in his housecoat again and kisses him. He cleans up the shaving equipment while John watches him with hazy eyes and a half smile. Then Sherlock goes to the kitchen and washes his hands, opens the fridge and pulls out eggs, milk, shallots, fresh herbs, soft cheese. John moves into the kitchen and sits at the table, his half smile now slightly obscured by a gaping mouth. He watches as Sherlock prepares an omelette, divides it and places John’s half on a plate in front of him. He sits down at the table as well, takes up John’s hand and kisses the knuckles.

“I love you,” Sherlock says.

They are almost finished their late breakfast when Sherlock’s phone trills from the table. Sherlock ignores it. John lifts an eyebrow at him, picks up the phone and looks. Then he turns the phone towards Sherlock so he can read the text from Lestrade: “ _Triple murder at the Victoria and Albert. Will you come?_ ”

Sherlock reads it. He shrugs and takes the phone from John and puts it back, face down, on the table.

“I love you,” Sherlock says.

John leans over and kisses Sherlock softly, softly. Then he picks up the phone and types. He presses Send, and turns the phone around so Sherlock can see what he has typed: “ _Be right there. SH/JW_ ”

“I love you too,” John says.


End file.
